A Wedding Like No Other
by tasha.vick
Summary: JOHNLOCK. Sherlock and John try to get through John's wedding to Mary. Something happens which awakens them both, and a well-timed nudge from an uncharacteristically sober Hary Watson helps, too.


When Sherlock woke up that morning, there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. Except it was the morning of the day he would lose his best friend. So, it was the first day of the rest of his life. And not in a good way. He stretched his long limbs slowly, before cataloguing every thing that needed to be done before he had to be at the wedding venue. He was the best man, after all, wouldn't wanna disappoint John. Again. He scoffed. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with ''coming back from the dead''. **_''For John''_**, the part of him that was still only slightly less than angry told him.

He jumped out of the sheets and walked to the bathroom, goosebumps rising on his exposed flesh. Three years of forced exile may have passed but his habit of sleeping in the nude hadn't.

As he showered, he stood under the spray of water, eyes closed. He memorized the feel of every droplet sliding down his chest, the way the temperature changed with time, and eventually ending up ice cold. But he still remained there, unmoving, knowing that time spent doing anything else but thinking about John would be time well spent, all things considered.

He needed the freezing water very much. His own body had started betraying him recently, and he simply refused to give in to the physical temptation. He absolutely denied himself the right to taint the very thought of John in such a way. So, he cold-showered his arousal away before stepping out and drying himself off.

* * *

He threw open all of the windows and let some of the June air in. It did him good, he realized, and knew that if John were around he'd approve of Sherlock enjoying life, even if it was in such a meager , miniscule way. **_''Stop it!''_** He told himself. _**''As of tomorrow, John will not be around for you to expect praise and approval from. He has a life, and yours will go back to what it was before him''** _

But what his life was like back then was frightening and he didn't want to acknowledge it just yet. His left palm subconsciously rose to grasp the crook of his right elbow, remembering the needle marks that usually adorned the flesh there, when he was still a user. He actively contemplated taking a hit prior to the wedding before stopping himself, knowing the odds of ruining the day were rather high, and much as he abhorred the very idea of John getting married, Sherlock would wait until after the end of the festivities to lose himself in his old addiction. **_''Now that my odds have all but dwindled completely''_**, he thought bitterly, a dark sneer plastering itself onto his full lips.

Mrs Hudson's knock woke him from his musings and he moved to fetch his robe before belowing a **_''Come in!''_** in the general direction of the door.

''Oh, Sherlock, haven't you started getting ready yet? You'll be awfully late.''

He rolled his eyes.

''Mrs Hudson, I'm perfectly aware of the time. I have showered, and in a little while I will put on that silly monkey suit I am forced to wear on this _gorgeous, blessed_ day, and all will be well. I do not intend to do anything...untoward. Because that is what you have come here to ask, isn't it? Oh, not outright, of course, but still. I may have been dead for the past three years, but unfortunately for the world my brain still functions. So, you can stop worrying. I'll be ready in time.''

His brief rant had left him slightly breathless and he hadn't noticed it before Mrs Hudson came up to him and wiped a few tears off his alabaster cheeks, but he had been crying quite steadfastly.

''Oh, my darling. Do you want to talk about it?''

She asked, instead of imposing. Without her, England would indeed fall, he thought again. _He_ would fall again, surely. Although, even with her around, there is a chance he still would. He looked down on the woman's smaller frame and smiled at her, as convicingly as he could at that moment.

''No, Mrs Hudson. I'll be fine. Even consulting detectives and highly-functioning sociopaths have their off moments. I'll be fine, I assure you. I will be waiting in front with a cab in time for us to get to the wedding with plenty of time to spare.''

She knew him long and well not to push when he was in one of his moods, so she left well enough alone, nodded and lef the room. The minute she did, he colapsed into what was once John's chair but had been untouched ever since the ex-army doctor moved in with Mary, which was right about the time he came back. He seemed to have an innate gift for turning people away, he thought.

Well, better get on with it, he smirked to himself, putting his best game face on. He was going to be the best bloody best man ever. Even if it tore him to shreds.

* * *

John woke to find the space next to him blessedly empty. He didn't know why he felt relief, but he assumed it was because he realized that by the end of the day he would belong to another human being, body and soul, forever, and that the preparations for Mary had already begun.

Somehow, though, just when his thoughts took that turn, his stomach churned and he forced himself to get up and meet the toilet seat, dry-heaving all the time.

The endeavor exhausted him completely, and beads of sweat that started grouping on his forehead had now migrated to his back and chest. His laboured breaths slowing down after a while, he realized that a shower was in order. He stripped and stepped in under the blissful liquid, seeking refuge in the warmth. It didn't provide any, if nothing, his mind seemed to have diverted onto bleaker topics. Like the fact that he would be away from Sherlock for longer periods of time, as there was his new practice AND his new wife to take into consideration now.

**_''Stop it! Just, stop it, John!''_ **He reprimanded himself sternly, but he just…couldn't help the ache for that man forming in his chest. He looked down and realized, throughly embarrassed, that on his wedding day to the most amazing woman in the world, he was completely hard for someone who…who would never, ever take him seriously.

But, unable to resist the sins of the flesh quite as adeptly as the very object of his fantasies, he let go, and his hand slid down his toned, muscular chest and abdomen, grasping the firm hotness, stroking agonizingly slowly at first, and then faster and faster, with strong moves made of pure want, until the need,and the white heat coiling harshly in his stomach were amost begging for release which he promptly granted. He came with a powerful shudder, guilt in his mind, two kinds of love in his heart, and Sherlock 's name on his lips. The tears...well, he chose to ignore those. That much he could allow himself.

* * *

Streets of London flew away underneath the tires of his cab, and all too soon for his liking, Sherlock had reached his destination. He was early. He wanted to hide in the groom's quarters, thus avoiding the crowd. He would be at the actual ceremony, he had to be, considering his role and everything, but as soon as humanly possible, he planned on making his escape.

He circumvented the front gates of the church and found the little side entrance which led to the rooms designated for the bride and groom. As he rounded the corner, he almost knocked another person over. Before he knew what was what, he heard a woman's voice apologizing profusely. She was a vortex of blonde hair and white fabric, giddy and blushing, the epitome of a perfect bride. It was Mary.

''Oh, Sherlock, it's you! You're early. Well, you're down the hall and to the left, make sure John doesn't see me, please, you know, bad luck and all that.''

Sherlock smiled a tight smile, nodded curtly and he and his coat swished down to the room Mary had pointed out. After he'd entered and shut the door behind him, he put a trembling hand to his right temple and focused on calming his suddenly raging breaths. He had no idea what was happening to him.

Weakness, that was all it was, weakness, this bloody feeling! But there was no arguing the point that he was losing the battle, so he slumped down onto the floor, realizing suddenly that his eyes had once again grown too tight for the stubborn tears now winding their path down his cheeks and throat, ending up on his pristine white shirt. He had to stop it, stop them from falling, John would know. '**'_He can't know. He deserves to be happy, and that little ball of jumpy energy out there makes him happy. Not you, Sherlock, you need to understand!''_**

His inner monologue was cut short by the sound of the arrival of other members of John's wedding party and moved him into action. He slid out into the blessedly still-empy church yard to have a smoke.

* * *

''Hello, little brother. How are you doing?''

John was startled out of trying to keep his bow-tie from going all askew by the sound of Harry's voice.

''I thought-''

''That I was going to be late? Or worse, a no-show? Well, I hate to disappoint, but, it is my only brother's wedding, it's sort of a big thing, or so I've been told, so, I didn't think showing up late with voddy-breath would be much appreciated.''

She chuckled amiably at her brother and as he watched her, a familiar sibling adoration overwhelmed him at the sight of her mahagony curls bouncing about and framing her round face so perfectly.

''You look great, Harry. Really.''

''I'd like to say the same about you, brother dearest, but...I'd be lying. Do you want to talk about it?''

Hary wasn't blind. She knew him best, and knew when something, a lot of things were bothering him. She was the one who'd anticipated and prevented his suicide attempt when he thought Sherlock was dead. She was the one who, after John had taken the first swing, sought out ''that bloody bastard Holmes'' and repeated her brother's action, choosing not to avoid the cheekbones.

When John remained mute at her question, she continued.

''Right, I'll do the talking. Fact -you're miserable. Now, it could be just pre-wedding jitters, but I'm inclined to dig a little deeper. Now, I don't know her that well to care all that much, but...no one should have to go through a loveless marriage. How bad is your love for him, John? How long do you think you can fight it, and do you think it will EVER be out of your system? Because if the answer to those questions is ''I don't know''... Mary doesn't deserve the pain. And neither do you. Now, I'm not Sherlock's biggest fan, lord knows I'm not, but...I know what you were like without him. And I know what you are like WITH him. Don't make me spell it out.''

John kept his eyes on the mirror in front of him, having finally suceeded in tying the damn tie properly. Not once did he flinch at the truth in Hary's words and kept his gaze leveled.

''Thank you for the insight, Harry, but, I'm fine, there is no more Sherlock Holmes in my system than there is in yours. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll go out for some fresh air, it's a bit stuffy in here.''

And he left his sister behind, both of them knowing he had just uttered the biggest lie ever.

* * *

Sherlock found the outdoors surprisingly soothing, and his breaths had slowly returned to normal. Acceptance of what was about to come had started to sink in and leave a mark on his tattered being. How perfect, he thought, I'm being positively byronesque. He almost vomited.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure approaching the circle of benches, one of which he was now occupying and before he could tell himself to get out lest he be caught up in some sort of iddle pratter with one of the invites, he recognized the newcomer as one John Hamish Watson. Just as he did, the man locked eyes with his and stood, rooted to the spot.

There was so much to be said in that one gaze, on both sides. So much longing, a plea for forgiveness(one of many), angst, hurt, comfort, and ultimately, just...love. Not even Sherlock could deny it anymore. It was love. It wasn't just ''The Feeling'' anymore. And he was on the verge of falling apart. So he broke the contact and approached John with all the indifference of the Sherlock John knew.

* * *

''You're early, Sherlock.''

The detective sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. But, he hadn't failed to notice the state in which he found John, and it worried him. Had he lost weight? Yes, if his sallow cheeks and protruding hip bones are anything to go by. And that's when Sherlock realized his own state was rather obvious to the doctor as well, because he seemed to be scanning him with his indigo-blue eyes.

''Yes, well...I thought you'd be pleased.''

''Of course. Um...well...do you, do you have the rings?''

''Yes. Do you want them now,or...''

''Later. When I tell you.''

Sherlock was still struggling with even the most commonplace of social dealings, and without his blogger telling him _''bit good''_ or _''bit not good''_, he felt...well, more than a bit not good.

''You're doing fine, Sherlock. Thank you...for being here today.''

''You are welcome... John, I-''

He was right there,on the very edge of saying it, of begging for more time together, the edge of pleading with the man not to get married and run away with him. And then he realized that the scenario in which John reciprocated his sentiment was just that-a scenario which will never become reality. So, he masked his true intent with words amiable and more appropriate.

''...I'm happy for you.''

''...thank you.''

''Shall we go in?''

Without waiting for a response, Sherlock all but ran inside the church, leaving more than a slightly confused John in his wake.

* * *

Sherlock stood at his designated spot, to John's right, head facing the vicar, as he listened to the wedding march being played. All eyes were on the bride sauntering down the isle towards John, and he couldn't look that way even if he tried, he had a feeling his body would betray him again and that the hapiness in John's eyes would break him. Instead, he focused on the ornate carving on the walls of the church, until he heard the cermony begin in earnest and waited for the words ''do you have the rings''.

But, as he waited, a collective gasp seized the hall,and, automatically he turned to his left, to ask John what was going on. When he turned, what he saw made the blood in his veins freeze. In a split second he remembered all the nights they had decided not to speak of because it made both of them feel less awkward.

John was on the cold floor of the church, clutching his chest, and Mary was still about three feet away, frozen in fear.

Harry was by John's side, grasping his arm pointlessly asking him what was wrong, and Sherlock saw Mary's father, holding her. They were all standing there, and it was clear he was going to have to do what he always did. Not that he'd need to be asked. Ever.

Sherlock heard someone call out for an ambulance.

''No! He's fine, he'll be fine!'', Sherlock heard himself shout.

He rushed over to John and lifted him slightly off the floor so he could lean against his chest. The doctor's right hand still clutched a fistful of his shirt, panting with pain.

Sherlock put one of his cool hands on John's heated, clammy forehead and wound his other arm around the older man's shoulders, rubbing soothingly, hugging him closer. He whispered to the man, who for all intents and purposes looked like he was having a heart attack. Sherlock knew better. Then he heard John utter something incomprehensible to others, but crystal clear to him.

_**''Let me through...he's my friend...''**_

Instead of the war, as was the case before, now it was Sherlock's ''death'' making him suffer.

''Shh, John, calm now...it's okay, you're fine, you're safe. I've got you, you're with me...Feel me, feel my heart.''

John's eyes were shut, but as soon as he heard the soft tone of comand in Sherlock's voice, he began to relax, and the pain, the flashing images of blood, and the detective's demise started fading slightly. He knew their ritual well to remember the words which had become Sherlock's mantra when they lived together. Before the Fall.

He hadn't had an episode since he got engaged. But now it was back with a vengeance and he lived through it again, the resounding crack of Sherlock's bones against the pavement, even though his mind had simply conjured it as an appropriate sound for the scene he'd witnessed. It didn't make it less real, though. The flight of the man he loved through the cold air of a gray day in London. All the vile memories were back, choking him to death.

But then he felt Sherlock pulling on his hand and he opened his eyes, watching, breathless,as the man placed it over his heart.

''Feel it John. It's beating. For you, it came back. For you.''

He looked up at the impossibly colored eyes and smiled. He wasn't aware of the fully church or his bride looking on the scene with curiosity and after a while...a sort of grim realization of certain facts.

John stroked the material under which the heart beat, very much there, warm and alive. And then he felt the darkness seize him.

* * *

Sherlock had almost colapsed himself when John passed out, forgetting for a moment that it happened, but he remained as calm as ever, managing to assure Mary and her family members that he was fine, and this sort of thing occurred at times. Honestly, Mary had been with him for two years, how could she not know?! He was furious at her, but forgot all about it as Harry pointed out they should probably move John to the groom's quarters where he could lie down until he came to.

As they deposited John's body on one the couch, Sherlock knelt by his side to take his pulse. It was fine, almost the rate it would be if John was sleeping. It calmed him somewhat. He did check the man's head over for a bumps or cuts from when he fell to the floor, just in case. There were none, much to Sherlock's relief.

''Sherlock, what's going on?''

Mary. He didn't need to turn around to know what her face would look like. Part fear and compassion for John, and part...well...questions. And he was damned if he had the answers. But, he braved it and faced her anyway.

* * *

''The war...sometimes he'd have...moments like these, when we first met. At first I tried to calm him by playing some music, and it worked, but only for a while. Usually an hour or so later in the night, or even during dinner, there would be something, sound, an image, an item of news that would trigger it. He explained it all to me. And so, when it did happen, I...just improvised. Obviously, the ritual was perfected over time.''

He looked at her, signalling his raccont was over, but she still looked as oblivious as she was before. In order to stop himself from seriously injuring her, he turned away again and draped a blanket over John's form, unconsciously brushing a strand of hair away from his still damp forehead. Hary just looked on in awe. And understanding.

Mary walked out, tears rimming her eyes, not knowing what to do with herself. Hary stayed behind, still watching his brother being taken care of the consulting detective.

And then she just blurted it out, as was the Harry Watson custom.

''You love him.''

Sherlock felt his spine stiffen. But in a second or so, he relaxed and sat in a nearby chair.

''Yes. But there is no reason for him to know. Why should he feel guilty for not feeling the same way? I want him to be happy, safe and loved. And he is all these things with her. I may not like her, but that much I see. I'm not one for empathy or compassion or...sentiment in general... but when it comes to John Watson...I would do anything.''

''I know. And I should probably say I'm sorry for decking you when you came back. It was silly of me, but...it's the Watson impulsive nature, you see. Well, mine anyway. But forget about that for a moment. There's one other thing you should know, you blithering, total arse.''

''Well, you have an odd way of rounding up an apology.'', Sherlock retorted in his usual deadpan manner.

''Oh, you'll thank me after this, sunshine. You two are the biggest pair of idiots I have had the good fortune to have in my life, Sherlock Holmes. Look, I won't say any more, as I have a feeling my brother might not exactly like it if I did, but...when he wakes up, just tell him. Take the chance. See what happens. Maybe - with a side of definitely - you'll be surprised.''

With that she stood up and picked up her purse from the side table.

''Take care of him, I'll call back in a few to see how he's doing.''

And with that she left the two men alone.

* * *

John felt a pair of warm, caloused hand rubbing his cold ones. And then, he remembered. All of it. His eyes shot open and his entire body went rigid. His gaze found Sherlock's concerned one and he almost started hyperventilating again.

''Wh...what...Sherlock...where's Mary?''

John noticed Sherlock's face fall at the words.

''She's out, with the guests. I told them not to call an ambulance, that you'd be fine. You-''

''-had an episode...yes...how long was I out?''

''Ten, maybe ffiteen minutes. Not counting the five to ten minutes at the altar.''

And that's when John remembered that Sherlock had taken care of him as he once did, soothing him back to reality when it got too ugly. His body fell back onto the plush surface of the couch and he buried his face in his hands.

''John, I need...to tell you something.''

The doctor looked up, tears in his eyes and Sherlock flinched, concerned again.

''John, what is it, are you in pain?''

''No. Yes. I don't fucking well know, Sherlock! I'm fine, physically, at least, but...Jesus Christ, I'm not alright! I've tried pretending that being with Mary takes all of you away, that it makes it easier, but...no. I can't. I hide my weakness from her, you know, because she would never know how to deal with the episodes. Not like you did. You made me whole when I was in bits and pieces. She only met me after I'd clumsily put myself together. She never saw any of my anxiety attacks because I wouldn't let her. I hid away from her whenever I thought it might happen, but today...today was different. It was so sudden and frightening...Sherlock, I...I thought I was dying, it hurt so much. Again, not the physical part of it, but...seeing you dead. I relived it just now. All of it. And when you held my hand over your heart I realized that...I could never mary her. It's just like Harry said. It wouldn't be fair to her or to me. I don't love her Sherlock, not as much as I'd always loved you. Cowardly though I was not to admit it to myself. And now if you don't want to see me ever again because you're married to your work, I don't bloody care. But if a despicable experience like this had to occur for me to put two and two together, then...I'm not keeping my mouth shut anymore.''

''Are you quite finished? Because if so, you idiot, I would like a word edgewise, if you don't mind?''

Sherlock's eyes lit up and John looked back at him curiously, nodding.

''I've never been afraid of anything. Ever. But when you came into my life...I...the _whole ''married to the work'' _thing...It was nothing but a wall, John, surely you see that now? Surely you saw that the moment you realized I was back after throwing myself off a building for you. And I'm not saying this to get the Best Best Friend of the Year award. I realized that I would die for you. That I would kill for you. And I have done both. And from what I've gathered of you, you killed for me the first day we met, and Harry foiled your luckily singular attempt at taking your own life a year after the Fall. Which by the way you need to remind me to yell at you for later on. Honestly, John, do you have any idea how out of my mind I was when Mycroft told me? If you'd succeeded, I'd have followed without a second thought. Like I said on numerous ocasions, I'd be lost without my blogger.''

The last was said in an almost inaudible whisper, but John caught it and sat up straighter. He pulled Sherlock next to him,entwining their hands.

After a while, he found his voice.

''You love me?''

''Yes John, I'd have thought it blindingly obvious.''

''Well...we'll just have to do something about our lives then, won't we?'', said John, in a much clearer voice, though slightly deepened by emotions. He ran his free hand through the dark curls of the man he loved for so long, and finally after a while of combing through it, rested his palm on the nape of the taller man's neck, exerting slight pressure,wanting to bring their lips together.

Both men had never did this kind of thing before, but it seemed it was only natural for them to meld together in this way. John slid his lips chastely across Sherlock's at first, but then as he felt the heat rolling off Sherlock in waves, couldn't help but deepen it, swiping his tongue across the full Cuipd's bow, begging for entrance which was quickly granted. Sherlock moaned into the kiss and John shivered before ending the kiss firmly but gently.

''Sher-Sherlock...Jesus, that was...''

Amazing, extremely sexy, so fucking unbelieveable, all these words ran through John's head, but he couldn't even pick one.

''Sherlock...listen to me.''

He held the younger man's head cupped between his palms now.

''I have to go talk to Mary.''

Sherlock's eyes glinted possessively, but he reined in an angry retort. He knew Mary didn't deserve it.

''I know. But..she won't-?''

He didn't even have to finish the question.

''It'll be hard for her Sherlock, I know that, but no...now that all of this finally happened, there is nothing she could do to change my mind.''

''I love you.''

John's head reeled at the words and he smiled.

''I love you, too.''

He placed another heated kiss on the detective's lips and went out to look for his soon to be ex-fiancee.


End file.
